Together
by Etimire T
Summary: This universe is wrong. They shouldn't have died in the explosion. But everyone did and Cisco is the only survivor. Fleeing, Cisco moves to London and tries to forget. But he's haunted by dreams of universes that don't exist. He knows things he shouldn't and now he's attracted the attention of London's top detective. Cisco can't run forever. Cisco/Vibe AU
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello darlings. So my goal is to keep this as my only author's note and not interrupt the story. I have the entire thing written out, and it's about 60 pages long. I plan to update pretty consistently. Probably every other day. It won't take long. This was supposed to be a one-shot but then... I don't even know. So yeah.

This is very much a Cisco/Vibe Fic and I took a bit of liberty with his abilities given what I've seen on the show and what I've researched about Vibe. It's probably not going to be canon at some point but for now everything is up in the air.

Warning: I didn't make up the Flash [obviously]

Warning: character deaths [sort of]

Also: This entire story is a giant five-seconds-of-Cisco/Vibe-once-a-week-is-not-freaking-enough rant. [not to mention why-aren't-there-more-Cisco-Vibe-Fics?]

See also: Sherlock Holmes. [didn't create him either]

If you haven't watched BBC Sherlock, sorry. He's here. There are literally no Sherlock/Flash crossovers, and I actually want people to read this, so that's why I didn't put it in there. I try to explain stuff so that you aren't confused. You just need a general knowledge of who Sherlock Holmes is. This story focuses on Cisco anyhow.

So yeah. This is what I do when I'm obsessed. That's all. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _ **Together**_

By Etimire T.

"Cisco Ramon. American, moved to London after his workplace blew up was destroyed in a horrible accident. Nothing terribly interesting." Sherlock slapped the file down on the table in front of John, and John raised an eyebrow.

"Okay?" John took a spoonful of cereal and shrugged. "So what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his roommate's lack of enthusiasm. "Look at these pictures." He opened the file.

Sighing, John pushed away his breakfast and picked up each photo individually. After several moments, his frown deepened. "That's… weird."

"You are inarticulate, but yes, it is certainly strange." Some of the photos were obviously taken from discreet locations, and others were picked from security cameras. Each photograph featured a young Hispanic man. He was most often dressed in t-shirts and jeans, hands in pockets or around a slushy. College age, John guessed from his stance. The young man would seem completely unremarkable, except that in every photograph he was out of focus. His features were completely blurred. In all appearances, he was a vague form through thick glass. "The strangest thing sense… well us."

John murmured in agreement, and they both lapsed into silence, remembering.

It was a dark night on a brief trip to America when it happened. John held his cellphone as a flashlight and it created harsh shadows across their faces. Mycroft Holmes stood beside a dew covered grave and Sherlock was busy inspecting the gravestone. Why they had to do this in the middle of the night was beyond John. He yawned.

"It's two in the morning, Sherlock." Mycroft muttered. "I do need to get back at some point."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask you to come. Feel free to leave at any point. John?"

"What?"

"Come closer. Blood on the corner here?"

John moved the lantern closer and frowned. "An, unfortunately, ironic death."

Sherlock murmured in agreement. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mycroft's gasp stopped his words. Slowly, he stood. Mycroft was staring at the sky.

Squinting, Sherlock turned, and his eyes widened. John followed suit, and his cellphone dropped from his fingers.

"Are you guys seeing this?"

Sherlock nodded sharply. Where a moment ago the sky flickered quietly, a massive spiral of black and blue and lightning grew like a massive wound.

After that, their memories were spatial. Shouting, running, pulled up, bright flashes, falling.

And then they were here.

Wherever _here_ was. Everything was close to normal. But every so often, a difference split this universe from the one they knew. They could almost believe it had never happened except for the strangest deviations.

For one, John's older sister was ten years older. She married and then divorced and remarried.

To men. Which was… different.

And John had no idea why or how that all worked out. She had a daughter who lived with her father in America. Her name was Felicity.

Sherlock's family was fundamentally the same but his parents preferred him, to Mycroft, instead of the other way around. It annoyed Sherlock to no end.

Neither John nor Sherlock knew what the consequences of living in a world they did not belong in would be, but they could imagine it would not be pleasant. Already, they would find themselves suddenly breathless or ill as moments non-existence passed over them. Something awful was about to come to pass, they felt.

They needed to get home.

Somehow.

John pulled himself away from his thoughts when he suddenly came to a realization.

"Wait. Cisco Ramon. Cisco- that- wasn't that the name on the gravestone?"

Sherlock considered for a moment and then his eyes widened. He looked like a cat staring into a fishbowl. "Oh. Oh, that's brilliant, John. Do you believe in coincidence?"

"Not really."

"Good. Me neither."

They were quiet for a moment and then, "Is he's blurring himself on purpose?" And if he was, how?

Sherlock shrugged; rubbed his hands together. "No one blurs out their face on every single security camera without trying."

"Good point. You think he's in trouble? Could be hiding."

"Whatever it is, it's fascinating. He's connected somehow. To this situation." Sherlock picked up the file again and leaned back in the kitchen chair. 221B was quiet for several minutes as Sherlock read. "Some sort of protégé, apparently." Sherlock sniffed. However, as he continued reading, his eyebrows rose. "A… real one, actually."

John, who finished his breakfast, stood up. "Are you going to check him out?"

"Obviously." The detective smirked, pale in the morning light.

SFSFSFSFSFSFSF

Cisco only decided to move to London because it was the next flight and he couldn't bare to look at his home a moment longer. He could still picture it. People were running, screaming, falling. The light was so bright for a moment he couldn't see anything but white. The explosion. Fire and rage and pain and he came to himself in StarLabs' basement, alone. He didn't know he got there. His heart raced, and his hands shook.

They were dead. All of them. Caitlynn, Ronny… Dr. Wells. All gone. This wasn't something that was supposed to happen. He knew it. Not to him. People died in movies. People died on the news. His _friends_ were not supposed to die.

But he wasn't invincible. They weren't invincible. He was just Cisco.

They died.

And now he was here. London, England. Alone. Avoiding the multiple missed calls from his family. He pretended that he was a local; that he'd never been a scientist at Star Labs. Attempting to sound like local was harder than it seemed. He failed pathetically for several months until it finally clicked. He smiled at his little achievement and took a sip out of the soda can in his hand. Dr. Pepper.

Most of the time he could forget why he was here. He'd get wrapped up in his experiments and (pathetically dull) inventions and all the paperwork it took to sell them, and for a moment he'd forget that he'd run away. He was still running, really, from everything that happened that day. It seemed like it would work. This new attempt at living alone. He kept Dr. Wells and Caitlynn in a deep part of his memory, safe and gentle, where he could look at them when he chose to.

But then the dreams started and wouldn't stop.

Quickly pulling himself from that thought, Cisco leaned back in the metal chair. He was sitting in front of a coffee shop, silent. The air smelled like the city, gasoline, coffee, urgency. London wasn't as busy as New York, but London gave the American metropolis a run for its money. Cisco had only been to New York a few times. The rush of emotions and the sound of cars kept him wired for days.

No, he preferred London. It wasn't quiet, but it wasn't loud either. He could concentrate and bury himself in his work on a bad day. Today was a bad day and Cisco knew he should be inside. He should lock himself away and not look at anyone. On the bad days, he'd see things and they terrified him. It was probably some obscure form of PTSD or something, Cisco reasoned, but naming it didn't make it go away. His vision kept flickering and he was overwhelmed with the sense that this was wrong. He wasn't supposed to be in London. Dr. Wells and Caitlynn should have never died.

But they did.

Now, what?

He didn't realize his eyes were closed until he flicked them open and was presented with the sight of a hawk-like man dressed in Victorian clothing. He sat in the other chair at the table.

Cisco blinked. In an instant, the man shifted into another man with pale skin, dark eyes, and a dramatic coat. Cisco pursed his lips _I'm going crazy,_ and the man frowned.

"Is something wrong?"

Cisco's throat felt like sand. "No." He gave the stranger an attempt at a smile and took another drink of his Dr. Pepper. "Do I know you?"

"No."

Cisco raised his eyebrows questioningly. The stranger looked like an animated slate of steel. Determined and analytical. "Um. Okay?"

The stranger leaned forward and smiled softly. "You've done a brilliant job of dropping your accent."

Cisco snickered. "I don't drop it; I put on an accent. What gave me away?"

"All of your clothes are from American stores." The stranger paused. "I also read your file. Cisco Ramon, yes?"

Oh. That was a bit suspicious. Cisco nodded slowly. Why was there a file on him? Part of Cisco thought that was actually rather cool, but the other part squirmed. "Yeah." Suddenly he frowned. "You're not from the press are you? I _still_ have no comment."

The stranger wrinkled his nose as if Cisco had suggested he was a worm. "I am merely curious about you. I'm a detective."

Cisco cocked his head. "Why does a detective care about me?"

The stranger's eyes flickered around Cisco's face and then he frowned. "You really don't know."

"Should I?"

Quickly, the man took his phone out of his pocket. He pressed a few buttons and then showed him the screen. Still suspicious, Cisco took the phone from the man. He scrolled through ten or so pictures and pursed his lips. "These photos are of me?"

Was someone spying on him? Why?

"From your file. You've caught attention because, as you can see, in every security camera, you're out of focus. Almost invisible. It's a glitch that only follows you."

Huh. Yeah, that was strange. Cisco handed the cell phone back to the man. He pursed his lips and leaned back. "Weird. Maybe it's one of my inventions? But that doesn't make sense. I've literally made _nothing_ interesting in months."

Now the stranger's eyes narrowed. "You don't know why you're blurred?"

"Nope." He popped the P.

Frowning, the stranger got to his feet and replaced his phone in his pocket. "Unfortunate. I was hoping you could share with me how you're doing it. My brother is obsessed with spying on me via-security cameras."

Cisco laughed. "Cool. I mean, not cool, but you know." He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and stood as well. He should probably get back home before his headache got worse. "Sorry, though. I haven't got an answer."

Nodding, the man turned and then looked back. "It was kind of you to let me question you. You are an entertaining mystery."

Cisco wasn't sure what to say to that. "Uh, thanks?"

Suddenly the man shifted subjects. "You're an inventor."

Cisco shrugged. "Sort of. Scientist, inventor, smart person-ish, whatever."

"Hmm. If you need a lab, text me." The stranger took a pen out of his pocket and scribbled his name and number on a napkin. "I'd very much like to solve you."

With that, the turned and walked away, leaving Cisco puzzled. It took a moment for the man's words to register, and his eyes widened. Wait. A lab? A real lab?

He hadn't been in a lab since… well, since. Yeah.

But _still_. A _lab!_

No. No. He couldn't get ahead of himself. The man was strange. He wanted to… solve him? What did that mean? Cisco was not a suspicious person. For the most part, he saw the best in people. However, in this case, it would make sense to be wary of the man. But despite the stranger's weird remarks, Cisco wasn't. The stranger had a good vibe. Was that crazy?

Not to mention… Cisco had seventeen ideas bouncing through his head that he couldn't test without a laboratory. He picked up the napkin and ran a finger over the writing. The stranger's name sent a shiver down his spine. There was something… almost familiar about it. Maybe he'd text this Sherlock Holmes.

But first he'd have to get through this day without going crazy.


	2. Chapter 2

_Several weeks later:_

He had eleven missed calls from his mother. Seven from his brother. This week. He had not answered a single call all year. They were probably furious at this point.

Cisco powered down his phone and fell backwards onto his bed with a sigh. He should call them but he didn't want to. They'd just ask when he's coming home and he'd spend the entire conversation evading the question.

It was much easier to ignore them.

With a yawn, Cisco took the napkin out of his pocket and stared at the spidery handwriting once more. It was almost habit by now. He had the lines memorized and he kept the napkin in his pocket almost constantly. It was an obsession he didn't understand. Something about the words made his mind itch. It was so tempting to call.

No. He decided that he would ignore his desire to meet the man because lately his 'hunches' had been downright terrifying. They'd only gotten more accurate of late.

He knew things he shouldn't and didn't know why or how. Every so often he caught a glimpse of the insanity erupting from his hometown on TV. The explosion at StarLabs had changed people.

Had he been changed?

No, that was ridiculous. He was just traumatized, coming up with his own version of reality. Quietly, Cisco snorted. Why was 'just traumatized' a good thing now?

It was entirely coincidental that he dreamed about a man that could control the weather. Or a woman will an obsession with bees. Or another woman who could teleport.

It was just his mind. After a few moments, he closed his eyes. Sleep would be nice… Sleep the night before had completely evaded him. He'd just rest for a moment.

Cisco didn't realize he acquired his goal until he woke up three hours later with a shout. His heart pounded and his throat was dry. Scrambling out of bed, he successfully tripped on his blankets three times before finally making it to his desk.

He shouldn't have allowed himself to sleep but now that he had, he didn't want to forget the dream. Not yet. His dreams were getting stranger. They felt important.

But Cisco couldn't convince himself that they didn't also terrify him. Still mostly asleep, Cisco fumbled for a pencil and quickly sketched what he remembered of the nightmare. He wasn't an artist but he could get by.

After several minutes, he sat down and stared at the drawing skeptically. "This is so stupid," he muttered angrily.

Quickly he tossed the drawing to the floor and stood. In the dream, he knew things he shouldn't as well.

 _He sat in StarLabs, shaking ever so slightly. He clenched his fist and slipped it into his pocket as an older man approached him, concern in his pursed lips. "Do you need me to inform you of the statistical probability of two successful hunches of this sort?"_

 _Cisco shook his head. He felt like pulling his knees into his chest but he stayed perfectly still, not looking at the man. "I just - I get this weird vibe..."_

And then he woke up.

It was infuriating. He felt like this other him, the one from the dream, somehow knew more, or was getting somewhere faster than he was. _That_ Cisco still worked at StarLabs. Caitlynn was still around. Dr. Wells was… absent for some reason, but replaced by several other people Cisco couldn't place.

A young man dressed in red.

An older man with a beautiful mind.

A pretty journalist.

Scores of baddies he didn't know he had the imagination to create.

Not to mention, occasionally his dreams dipped into the realm of Sherlock Holmes. The dark stranger was always followed by a blonde man, crime scenes and shouting.

Why was he dreaming about these people?

Standing up, Cisco brushed himself off. He'd taken to avoiding any news about his hometown just in case it mentioned someone or something from his dreams. He didn't want to know. He wanted to continue thinking it was in his head. Maybe that was stupid. He didn't care.

"I need a distraction." Cisco murmured out loud. "Something really, _really_ distracting." Usually he found himself in an arcade. Or the movie theater. With three cans of Redbull.

But neither place held any interest to him. Glancing at his bed, he fished through the covers until he retrieved the Starbucks napkin.

Forget it. He needed to make something explode.

SFSFSFSF

The lab was by far more primitive that StarLabs, but hey, it was better than the crap microscope he bought off of EBay. Grinning, Cisco let the door close softly behind him. The lab was sterile and brightly lit, with scores of chemicals and laboratory equipment scattered about.

Sherlock Holmes stood silently to the side, watching. "I take it your used to a different sort of lab."

Cisco let out a short laugh, forgetting his fake accent. "Are you kidding me? This is awesome!"

Sherlock smirked. "Well," he gestured toward the equipment, "Don't touch anything you don't understand."

Cisco rolled his eyes.

"I'll be in the next room," Sherlock continued, "You see that window? The room beyond?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be conducting an experiment on bookworms. Don't interrupt me unless the situation is dire." With that, the detective spun away and the door shut with a soft click behind him.

Bookworms? Whatever. Cisco stayed completely still in the absolute silence for several seconds. Then he grinned. "Why didn't I do this forever ago?" he whispered.

Quickly, he scampered toward the cupboards and scanned the chemicals available. "Freaking genius!" Pulling out a shelf, he selected the supplies he would need.

Concussion gun? Totally happening.

SFSFSFS

"I can't believe you let a teenager into a professional lab."

Sherlock shrugged. He was not doing a study on bookworms. He was studying Cisco Ramon in his natural habitat. "Mr. Ramon isn't a teenager. Also, he graduated when he was thirteen, John. He knows what he's doing."

And on that subject, what _was_ Cisco doing?

Sherlock watched Cisco through his IPhone which was connected to the security camera system. It wasn't a perfect setup, given that the boy kept pulling in and out of view while the rest of the room remained normal but it did allow him to watch Cisco work. "How does he do it?" Sherlock murmured. He passed the phone to John, who was leaning against one of the laboratory tables. John took the device and watched Cisco flit around the screen for a few minutes. "It's like he's shaking. All of him. All the time."

"Vibrating," Sherlock murmured, taking back his phone. "He's vibrating."

SFSFSFSF

Two expressos, seven minor explosions, and a whole lot of tinkering later, Cisco held the smooth weapon in his hand.

Freaking beautiful. It would work. He didn't need to test it out to be sure (he _totally_ was going to try it out as soon as he could). He'd cleaned up his mess and the hospital was closing. He needed to thank Mr. Holmes and kick this pop stand before the detective asked what he'd just concocted. Not to mention he had a headache like a horse's kicking hoof.

Too late. Sherlock opened the door and laid a curious eye on Cisco's creation immediately. "They're closing," he murmured.

Cisco stood up and smiled. "Yeah, I know. I'm coming." Quickly, he tucked the gun into his backpack and pulled the pack onto his left shoulder. "Thanks for, you know, letting me trash your lab."

Sherlock smirked. It wasn't his lab, the school owned him a favor. But that was unnecessary information. He had other issued to deal with. "I won't lie to you, Mr. Ramon."

"Cisco, please. 'Mr. Ramon' makes me sound a million years old."

"Cisco. The only reason I let you in here is because you're interesting puzzle."

"I figured." Cisco pointed behind him to the security camera in the corner. "I've been looking into security cameras after you told me about that glitch and realized they're pretty easy to hack. You were watching me, right?"

Sherlock blinked but otherwise didn't show his surprise. "Yes. I was."

Cisco smiled. "Knew it. Find anything interesting?"

"You're still glitching, if that's what you want to know."

Cisco nodded and the lights in the hall went out. He wrinkled his nose. "I guess that means were supposed to leave. Where's your friend?

Sherlock cocked his head as they began walking toward the exit. "What friend?"

"Blonde? Wearing a jumper? Am I just totally missing this?"

"You mean John. How did you know about him?"

Quickly, Cisco opened his mouth to respond. He pushed open the door and they walked out into the blue night. He tried to respond, but his words stuck in his throat. Confused, he paused in realization. Had that not happened in real life? He was certain he'd run into John Watson at some point. Or not? "I..."

"What?"

"Just a… hunch, I guess?" That was really stupid excuse. But he couldn't exactly say, _hey, sometimes I hallucinate and it actually happens._ Because that was crazy and ridiculous and totally not what was happening.

Frick.

Suddenly overwhelmingly nervous, Cisco stepped away. This wasn't some story on the news. This wasn't a dream. It was right in front of his face.

He couldn't ignore it. Gulping, Cisco gestured toward the street. "I've got to, like, go. So… um, yeah. I'll see you later."

Sherlock frowned, but Cisco took off before he could say anything in return.

If that wasn't suspicious, Sherlock didn't know what was.

SFSFSF

Cisco caught a cab with relative ease and stared down at his hands. They were shaking. Why was he always shaking? Gulping, he pulled at his hair for a moment but that didn't stop the movement.

"You okay, kid?"

"Fine. Drop me off at the park by the library. The one at the edge of town."

"It's after dark. You sure about that?"

Cisco rolled his eyes but the driver couldn't see. "I'm sure." A few minutes later, the cab costed to a stop. Cisco paid the man and soon he gripped the straps of his backpack and entered a grove of trees. No one could see him in here. His weapon was silent. He could distract himself experiment with his newest creation without interruption.

He pulled the gun from his backpack and aimed it into the air. He pressed the trigger and the shock wave shoved him to the ground. The leaves of the trees above him shot upward and several branches broke, flying into the air. Oh, that felt good.

Cisco ducked quickly and stumbled backwards as an arm sized branch fell where he'd been standing. Woops. The rain of leaves and sticks lasted several seconds and Cisco snickered from a few feet away. Cool. What would happen if he aimed that at a building or an enemy?

He reached into his pocket for a screwdriver he nicked from the lab, but instead, his fingers met Sherlock's napkin. Stilling, Cisco dropped the gun to his side and dug the paper scrap out of his pocket.

He held it up to the little light there was but instead of just feeling the usual tingle that squirmed down his back at the sight of the words, his vision cut off as well.

What.

 _Blue light bloomed and Cisco found himself in a pleasantly warm living room. The lights were too bright and everything blurred around him. He was fairly certain if he had anything in his stomach, he would puke._

 _"_ _You've got to be kidding me," someone said. "Metas? No matter what's on the news, this isn't a comic book. It's an alternate universe."_

 _"_ _Is that what we're calling 'it' now, John?" The detective lay on a couch, staring moodily at the ceiling._

 _A blonde man sat in an arm chair. John. He replied quickly. "That's what it seems like."_

 _"_ _Then it's entirely probable that an alternate universe could have_ superhumans _." He paused and exhaled slowly. "I should talk to him. Maybe he can help us."_

 _"_ _You've only met him twice. How could you know if he's a Meta or not?"_

 _"_ _I once testified in court against a man I knew for a shorter amount of time, you know that."_

 _"'_ _S different."_

 _Shrugging, Sherlock stood abruptly and walked to the door. "There isn't any other explanation for the glitches, John. Also, he used to work at StarLabs in Central City. The lone survivor. It would be strange if something_ wasn't _strange about him. We need to find him before he does something stupid."_

 _Sherlock grabbed a coat off a hook on the wall…_

… And Cisco dropped to the ground, breathing heavily. The pine needles beneath him did little to soften the blow to his knees. He forced himself to let go of the napkin and curl his shaking fingers into fists. "What's happening to me?" he whispered haltingly. Cisco's thoughts were scattered and disheveled like a pile of windy leaves. His head pounded and he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and never move again.

But. He. Couldn't. Stop. Shaking.

Pulling his knees to his chest, Cisco stared daggers at Sherlock's handwriting. Suddenly Cisco snorted. He was terrified by a freaking napkin. How stupid was that?

Gulping, he reached forward carefully. He needed to know more. Why was this happening? How?

His shaking fingers were about to touch the napkin's surface again when he pulled back. What was he doing? He didn't understand this… thing. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

What had Sherlock said? Meta? Sherlock thought he was one of the Metas from Central City.

Was he? Cisco drew away from the thought distastefully but he couldn't dismiss it. It connected the dots. Really weird, disconnected, hallucinated dots. Dots all the same.

Or maybe he'd just imagined the entire exchange. He was going crazy. Besides, parallel universes? Intriguing, but seriously? No. Sherlock wasn't really out looking for-

At that moment twig snapped behind him and before Cisco knew what he was doing, he flew to his feet, arms extended.

A dark figure quickly pulled into view and Cisco blinked. "What?"

Sherlock Holmes frowned. His coat was wrapped around him tightly and John stood slightly behind the detective. Raising a skeptic eyebrow at Cisco's extended arms, Sherlock snorted. "What exactly were you expecting to do? Slap me?"

Cisco glanced down at his automatic stance and dropped his hands sheepishly. He didn't know what he'd been planning.

But that didn't matter. What did matter was that he'd just seen Sherlock decide to deduce his location and find him. He saw them talk about alternate realities. Metas.

And now here he was. What did that mean?

It wasn't a hallucination and Cisco couldn't pretend that it was.

For a long moment no one said anything. Finally, "What do you want?"

Sherlock ignored his question and John stepped forward to give Cisco a soft look that Cisco couldn't quite decipher. Cisco gulped. John was the same man from his hallucination.

"I suppose you're, Cisco," John said. "I'm-"

"-John." Cisco interrupted. He pursed his lips worriedly. He shouldn't know that. "Yeah, I know."

John opened his mouth, but Sherlock stopped him with a raised hand. "We need to talk to you."

"No," Cisco countered immediately. "You don't."

"I've come to a conclusion."

Cisco snorted. Sudden anger rushed through him. "What? You've 'solved me'? Good on you, detective. In case you didn't notice, I'm not a math problem."

"Obviously. You're much more than that."

"That's not what I meant."

This was a bad idea, standing here. He should have run off the moment he heard Sherlock come up. Cisco didn't want to talk. He didn't want some detective studying his life; coming to strange conclusions. Cisco was terrified as it was. Quickly, he shoved his gun into his backpack. His movements were jerky and uncontrolled. "Look, I know what you think. But I'm not- it's not like that. I'm not one of… them. If anything, all three of us are insane and that's all." He was babbling now. "I'm just trying to live my life like a freaking normal person and none of you are making it any easier. I left my home for a reason and I don't care if you _are_ from a parallel universe, I want to be left alone and…"

Wait.

Did he say that last part out loud?

Both men looked suitably shocked and it took a moment for Cisco to register why. "I mean," he stuttered, "or whatever."

John shot Sherlock a look. "You _told_ him?"

"No."

Cisco's hands were shaking so bad he couldn't zip up his jacket. Instead, he gripped the straps of his pack and backed out of the grove, nearly tripping. He'd been right about the parallel universe thing too. He was shivering continuously. It made his bones ach and rattle.

Sherlock shouted after him and Cisco didn't care. He picked up the pace but knew he could never outrace the taller man. For a long time, he just walked, not caring where he was headed. Sherlock followed him and Cisco boiled. Eventually he laid a hand on Cisco's heaving shoulders.

Slowly Cisco turned and locked eyes with the detective. "I said, _leave me alone_." Sudden rush of fear and adrenaline and anger shot through Cisco. Why wouldn't they just let him be?

His breath hitched and suddenly a rippling wave of… force? _Energy? Sound?_ rushed from the fingertips of a hand he hadn't realized was raised.

Sherlock flew backwards like a fabric doll and slammed into the concrete ten feet away.

Instantly horror and shock replaced Cisco's anger. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, frozen, until John came running. Racing to Sherlock's crumpled form, John's gaze flickered between him and Cisco.

"What did you do?" John whispered, pale. Cisco heard him loud and clear.

Cisco choked. "I- I don't. I didn't mean to- it was an…"

But John wasn't listening. He raced to Sherlock's side and quickly took his pulse.

 _Oh God, please don't let him be dead._

A strong beat sounded beneath John's fingertips and John exhaled in relief. Quickly, he stood up. "Cisco! Cisco, it's alright. He's- he's… fine…"

Cisco didn't wait a moment longer. He ran.


	3. Chapter 3

_Cisco looked around the grey room. It was formless, edgeless. His chest was tight and he knew he was waiting for… something._

 _Suddenly there was an audible pressure release and another young man appeared in front of him. The boy pushed a hair out of his face and looked around the room in confusion until he met Cisco's eyes._

 _"_ _Dude," the boy breathed._

 _Cisco blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Nope. Still there. The boy looked exactly like him. Different clothes but that was where the differences ended. His eyes widened. "You're… me."_

 _"_ _I… guess?" the boy answered. "Cisco Ramon?"_

 _"_ _Yup."_

 _The boy nodded slowly, thinking. Suddenly a light lit his eyes. "Oh," he breathed. "You're parallel. Like that sand dude and the Atom Smasher."_

 _Cisco frowned. "Who?"_

 _Waving away his question, the boy came closer. "Are you from an alternate universe? That's what's happening to me, right? I can see alternate timelines?"_

 _If Cisco had an answer, he would have given it. Instead, he shrugged. "How should I know? I'm having the same problem."_

 _"_ _Oh." The other Cisco sighed disappointedly. "It is… scary for you too?"_

 _Cisco nodded. "Terrifying." He pursed his lips. "But… I mean, at least you have friends."_

 _The boy's brows creased. "What do you mean?"_

 _"_ _They're all gone where I live. You've got Caitlynn and all those other people."_

 _"_ _And you don't?"_

 _"_ _No."_

 _"_ _What happened?"_

 _Cisco gulped. He almost didn't want to tell him. But he did. "Caitlynn and Dr. Wells both died in the explosion. I, um, I live in London now."_

 _The boy opened his mouth and then closed it again as a complex set of emotions spread across his face. Shock, sadness, fear. Suddenly, he seemed to come to a mental halt. "But how is Barry still fighting all the bad guys? They would have overridden the world if he didn't stop them."_

 _"_ _I don't know?" Cisco cocked his head. "There's some kind of… vigilante or something who keeps taking care of them. A red streak. I don't really watch the news. Is that who you mean?"_

 _Slowly, the boy nodded. Cisco could still see the confusion shifting through his eyes. After a moment, the boy shrugged. "Either way, you've got to know_ someone _in London."_

 _"_ _Not really. Literally, the only guy I've really talked to is a sociopathic detective I hallucinate about. Not to mention he thinks he's from_ another _universe."_

 _There was a beat of silence and then, "You need to get out more."_

 _Cisco rolled his eyes. "Thanks. I haven't been in the mood."_

 _Suddenly the boy pointed. "Wait. That's it! We're not just remembering alternate timelines." He looked like he was on the verge of a verbal waterfall. "You said the guy thinks he's from another universe?"_

 _Cisco wasn't following. "Um…"_

 _"_ _Maybe it's not just_ me _that I see. We're seeing_ everything _from other timelines." A small frown dipped the other-Cisco's lips and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Headache. "That's why I knew how to find the sand guy," he whispered. "He was from a parallel universe."_

 _Cisco blinked, processing. That made a horrible amount of sense. (Then again, he was talking to himself, of course it did). Quiet, Cisco looked down at his feet. The part of him that was a comic geek was twisting about trying to be interested, but he hushed it. He couldn't afford to be interested; naive. Perhaps this other-Cisco could be. But that Cisco hadn't watched all of his friends die._

 _For a long moment both Cisco's stared at each other, quietly assessing. Cisco could see easily that the other-him was far from impressed by what he saw. Which made sense. A man is made by his friends, as they say. Cisco was alone. The other Cisco was not. It seemed to make all the difference._

 _Cisco knew what would happen if he stayed alone like this forever. He'd grow old inside. Never visit his family. Never move on. He was so bloody terrified of himself and if he didn't get over it soon, he never would._

 _Did he want that?_

 _No. He wanted so badly to be the young man standing in front of him. Sure, that Cisco was afraid. He was still learning. He wasn't perfect. Maybe he was even a bit naïve._

 _But he wasn't alone._

 _And Cisco didn't to be. Not anymore._

SFSFSF

Cisco decided that ignoring his 'dilemma' was the solution for the moment. He popped a Twizzler into his mouth and stared sightlessly around his apartment. It was a mess. Candy wrappers. Magazines. Empty pizza boxes. Bits of experiments. A wall stain (from an accident involving black power) was covered by a calendar that was off by seven months. Everything tilted just a bit. A conglomeration of a life too busy to clean. The television was on but covered by a blanket. He just wanted the sound. (Was it pathetic that the voices made him feel less alone?)

 _*This is Linda Park in Central City. We have just witnessed the Red Streak face a giant man-shark and it appears that he has…*_

Cisco fumbled for the remote and powered off the device.

Seriously? He had been certain _that_ dream was just the Mexican food.

Guess not.

Cisco sighed and rubbed his eyes. No matter. He had other things to focus on. Like his complete turd bag move last night. He shouldn't have run. He should have stayed to see what happened. Sherlock was alive but what if he was hurt? Not running off would have been the less than completely idiotic thing to do.

Maybe he should figure out a way to contact them? Cisco squirmed. He should. Hadn't he just challenged himself to let people in?

But they'd ask him about-

No. He wasn't thinking about that.

He was thinking about… them? Sure. Yes, Sherlock and John. Stuck in a parallel universe or something. He could focus on _their_ strange problems. They needed to get home, he assumed.

A sudden knock in the door broke his thoughts like glass. Cisco jumped up, knocking over a mostly empty can of soda. He hissed in irritation, righted the Dr. Pepper, and scrambled to the door.

Cisco jerked it open and Sherlock Holmes stood on his doorstep like some kind of majestic demigod. Releasing a sigh of relief, Cisco pulled the door open wider. "Oh, thank God," he breathed. "You're okay."

Before he could think about it, Cisco stepped forward and embraced the man. Sherlock stiffened and instantly Cisco jerked back. "Right. Sorry. I'm just, like, really glad you're not… you know."

"Dead?" Sherlock murmured with slight humor. "I can take a hit, Cisco."

"I didn't mean to- to-"

"It's of no consequence," the detective interrupted, "I should not have pushed you. I am the one in fault."

Cisco smiled tiredly. "The way you talk is the epitome of British-ness." He stepped back. "Do you want to come in?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but nodded. Soon Sherlock was standing in the living room. He wrinkled his nose at the obvious mess. "Americans…"

"Hey," Cisco countered from the kitchen. He walked back in with a pointing finger, picked up his can of soda, threw it away and quickly went looking for another one. "That's racist, or… something like that. Besides, your flat is just as much of a mess."

Sherlock sat down at a small table and pursed his lips. "You've never been to my flat."

"Nope." Cisco popped the P and didn't explain. He came back with two cans and plopped one in front of Sherlock. "Bend your almighty dignity and have some pop. I sort of hate tea so I don't ever buy any."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows but didn't speak. Actually, he rather appreciated Cisco's no-nonsense attitude. "You're… calmer," he rumbled quietly.

"Yeah. I mean, I guess."

"Why?"

Cisco shrugged, picking at a chipped edge of the table. "I talked with someone. He made me realize some things."

"May I ask who?"

"No."

Sherlock glared at him, but Cisco didn't back down. Finally, Sherlock sighed and sat back. He pursed his lips. "Cisco, I-"

Cisco cringed. "Don't."

"Don't, what?"

"Don't try to be apologetic. From what I've seen, you're awful at it."

For a long moment, Sherlock wasn't sure how to respond. Finally, he settled on a relieved look. Honesty. "Thank God. I wasn't looking forward to it."

Smirking, Cisco met his eyes. "Moving on?"

"Yes, definitely." Sherlock cleared his throat. "I have questions."

"So do I. Me first?" It wasn't a real question.

Sherlock crossed his arms. It was clear in Cisco's sharp eyes that if he wanted to talk at all, Cisco would be the one to dictate the conversation. "Fine," he muttered grumpily. "Ask away."

Quickly, Cisco smiled. "First. You're from a parallel universe?"

"Yes. You believe that now?"

"As I said, I talked to a guy. Moving on, how did that happen?"

Chewing his lip, Sherlock sat forward. "I was… investigating something. A murder in an American graveyard when a… I'm not quite sure what to call it. A portal? Gap? Rip? Either way, it opened up a few minutes after I located this bloody gravestone. Literally bloody."

Cisco frowned thoughtfully. "That must have opened up because of the events in the…" He stopped, coughed. "Anyway, continue."

Sherlock frowned but complied. "I don't recall much. It pulled us into the sky and when we woke up, the versions of us from this universe were gone and we were… here. We've been trying to find a way back since. I don't think we can survive here indefinitely."

Cisco nodded thoughtfully. "You don't exist properly, so you'll just stop existing, probably. Geez, that's awful. Who was with you?"

"John and my brother Mycroft."

Nodding, Cisco set down his pop. "Alright. Makes sense. I mean, it doesn't, but I'm suspending my logic for the moment. You need to get home."

"Precisely. Any other questions?"

"Yes. Why do you keep searching for me?"

Sherlock blinked. Of course. Cisco wouldn't know. "I saw your file and nicked it from my brother. You were interesting with your blurry pictures, but…"

"What?"

"The gravestone. John was the one to remember, actually."

Cisco was clearly lost. "What about it?"

"The gravestone was yours."


	4. Chapter 4

_Sherlock waits at the phone while sitting in a taxi. The cabbie is more and more baffled by the half-conversation he hears as Sherlock speaks into the device._

"Finally. Pick up quicker, John."

"It's a perfectly valid request."

"Yes, I saw him."

"He was glad that I was alright. Mostly he was just… fine. Oddly so, actually."

"I don't know. He refused to explain himself- oh! I called you because Cisco says he thinks there is someone in America who can help get us back home."

"Yes. Have you heard about the red streak taking care of the Metas?"

"Yes, that one."

"I don't know how he knows him! Something to do with parallel universes. Apparently this man can run fast enough to create holes in reality fabric."

"I never thought I'd say that either."

"I'm sure. Cisco won't talk, but I believe he can collaborate with his other versions of himself. That's how he knows. Anyhow, it's my current hypothesis."

"No, I couldn't get anything not related to us out of him. He refused to talk about last night and-"

"How can ignoring trauma be normal?"

"You… are talking from experience."

"Yes, I suppose you were a soldier."

 _Long pause._

"Either way, Cisco said that we should try to find the man and I agree. I texted Mycroft and got us plane tickets to Central City tonight. He'll join us there as soon as he can."

"Of course, Cisco is coming. Don't be dull. How else are we supposed to find a vigilante?"

"Yes. Right. Uh, huh. I'll meet you at the airport. Pack what you need."

"Alright. Goodbye, John."

 _Click._

 _The Cabbie shakes his head. People are getting more ridiculous every year..._

* * *

Somewhere among the many parallel universes, (he figured there had to be many) Cisco imagined that a version of him was having an epic journey through the untamed wilderness. Wind blowing through his hair or something.

Meanwhile, he was failing to open a tiny packet of peanuts in a tiny metal can.

He hated flying. Like, seriously, it was a problem.

Sherlock sat across the aisle and John was in the seat next to Cisco. They plane flew over dark, sparkling water and Cisco peered over the edge of the wing to catch a glimpse of the horizon. This high up, you could see the curve of the Earth and Cisco found that seriously cool.

He claimed the window seat (that was probably immature, but then again, Sherlock looked ready to argue with him for it until John shot him a look) and they had not said anything against for at least an hour. Sneaking a glance at Sherlock, Cisco was startled to meet the detective's gaze. Sherlock's eyes glittered but after a moment he sighed and stared up at the ceiling. Bored.

Cisco agreed.

Why was he doing this again? He was on a plane back to Central City. Back to where it all started going downhill. And why? To help some people he hardly knew?

Why did he even care?

But Cisco _did_ care. Something awful would happen to them if he didn't. Besides, he'd already told himself to stop moping around. Going on some harebrained search for a vigilante that he only recently knew through secondhand memories was a wonderful distraction.

He could pretend, at least for the moment that he wasn't afraid or lost or confused. There was nothing strange about him. Sort of.

Like Sherlock Holmes, Cisco was good at faking alright.

"So…" John cleared his throat and Cisco started out of his thoughts.

"Gosh, I thought you didn't speak."

John rolled his eyes. "Cisco?"

"Hmm?"

"Who is the red streak?"

Cisco shrugged. "I'm not exactly sure. But he can help."

"But how…" John frowned, messing with his hands. "How are we supposed to find him?"

Smirking, Cisco sat back. This would be the fun part. "I thought we might become supervillains."

* * *

"Right. So, here's the plan. Sort of."

Deep within Central City, four men stood in a loose circle. A consulting detective, a broken soldier, a government official, and… Cisco.

Cisco didn't quite know how to describe himself. Inventor? Scientist? That weird kid?

Meta?

No. He wasn't going to worry about titles. He was Cisco Ramon and that was enough.

The warehouse was damp with yesterday's rain and broken beer bottles testified to the numerous secret parties hosted within the damp hall.

It was the perfect place to set off a bomb. Like, classic.

"It's not a real bomb, obviously," Cisco explained. He held up a device in the blue tinted light. "It'll just knock out everyone within a ten-foot radius if there's any… problems."

Mycroft frowned, drawing circles in the concrete with the tip of his umbrella. "And that doesn't count as a bomb?"

"It doesn't hurt anyone."

"Unless they hit their head when they fall." That earned John a glare.

"Which they won't" Cisco drawled. "Unless they're an idiot and at that point, they might need knock on the head."

John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock hushed him. He stared intently at Cisco, considering, and the attention made Cisco's skin crawl. "You plan to create a hostage situation, to lure your friend here?"

"Yup."

"Who will be the hostage?"

Oh. That was a good question. They all glanced at each other and eventually their gazes landed on Mycroft. Mycroft snorted. "Over my dead body, children."

Cisco shrugged. "That can be arranged."

Mycroft obviously did not appreciate his sarcasm. He wrinkled his nose and stood just a bit taller so that Cisco had to look up at him. "Who put the teen in charge, anyhow?"

"For your information, I am twenty-two, so... eat it. _And_ , moving on, who's the hostage? Sherlock can't, for one. He looks the evilest out of all of us."

Sherlock smiled at this, fairly pleased.

"And Mycroft…" Cisco swiveled toward him.

Mycroft nearly growled. "I'm not doing it."

And Cisco swiveled away. "Gotcha. That leaves you, John."

John pursed his lips. "Can't _you_ do it?"

"Me?" Cisco replied. He supposed he could. He could work with the 'kid' appearance he had going on and…

"You're young," John continued. "Not to mention a local. Our accents would give away our connection."

"No." Sherlock's hands were in his pockets and he shook his head. "If we're planning on pulling a hostage situation with a supervillain… at least one of the 'bad guys' has to have powers."

John shrugged. "He could still be the hostage and make it look like it was you with the abilities."

Cisco froze. His mind stuttered.

No. That wasn't happening. He was ignoring his 'problem.' It was the whole point of this trip (at least for Cisco). He sputtered. "Yeah, but- but we could- we… I can't. I don't know how to, to…"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You want to help us, yes?"

Cisco gulped. "Yeah."

"And we need your friend?"

"Yes," Cisco conceded again.

" _And_ he'll only come if we attract a lot of attention." Sherlock pursed his lips. "Do I need to continue spelling it out? We need this to look convincing. Unless you have another idea?"

Did he have another idea? Cisco wracked his brain. Sherlock made sense; far more sense than he liked. He sighed.

 _I'm actually going to have to do this._

He glared at Sherlock. "I hate you."

"You'll do it then?"

Cisco ran his thumb across the surface of the 'bomb' still in his hands, reluctant. "I'll… try."

"Not ideal, but I'll take it."


	5. Chapter 5

How strange, to be back in Central City. Cisco recognized the streets. He spotted random statues he'd seen in passing on occasion. Everything was busy and loud and crowded like it usually was and Cisco realized he didn't mind it. He was waiting for Sherlock to 'kidnap' him, and he figured he might as well look normal and get a drink.

What was ever weirder about this situation was that he was doing something so totally mundane it felt incredibly strange in comparison to the last year. He walked into a small, hip coffee shop and breathed in the smell of coffee beans, new paint, and cinnamon.

 _Jitters_ , he read.

Yeah, he could relate to that.

Something nagged the back of his mind and he stopped in the doorway. It took a moment, but he recognized that meta-crap… _feeling_ he got before-

 _Too late._

 _He sucked in a breath and the lighting in the room changed, taking on a blue, shaky tint. One man stood in the center of the shop, his shoulders slumped. The entire coffee shop had been thrown into disarray like a dinosaur tried to order a mocha or something._

 _"I don't understand," the man whispered. He idly kicked a fallen chair. "Why don't they remember? Why doesn't_ he _remember?"_

 _Surprised, Cisco stepped forward so that he could see the man's face. He recalled his name suddenly. "Barry," Cisco whispered._

 _Barry Allen's shoulders remained slumped as he spoke. "Cisco Ramon, if you're seeing this, from some place, some time, some universe. I… you need to know that this world; this one we created, is just as flawed as the one we remember."_

 _Cisco's eyes widened. "You can see me?"_

 _Barry sighed, righted a single chair amid the disaster, and sat down heavily. He didn't respond. Scrubbing his face, his eyes darted quickly around the room, looking for something he couldn't see._

 _No, Barry didn't know Cisco was watching. He just hoped he was._

 _"People die," he croaked. "Good people. People that_ shouldn't _. But… I am glad we changed it. Maybe it's selfish of me. I'm not the person I was and I'm relieved." He frowned at his hands. "Sometimes I don't remember. Not at all. And then it all comes rushing back and I…" Suddenly he shivered. "Oh gosh, Cisco, I wish you remembered. I wish you would tell me what's going on in your head." The man dropped his head into his hands and then suddenly the air stung of electricity. With a flash of light, he fled._

The lights flickered on again and nausea filled Cisco's stomach. Cisco took in a shaky breath, only barely registering someone in front of him. What on Earth was that? He was going to keep seeing things in the day now too?

"Dude. Hey. _Hellllllo_? Are you alright?"

Cisco blinked, realizing the young man was addressing him. "Um." He coughed. "Oh. Yeah, sorry, I'm fine. Am I in your way? Sorry. I mean, uh… already said that. Here."

He shifted to the side, still shaking, and held open the door.

"Thanks," the young man supplied with a laugh.

"No prob." Cisco smiled tightly at the man and turned away. The door shut behind him and Cisco began walking to get in line when…

Wait.

That was-

The chances of a meeting like that were monumental. WHAT!

"Idiot," Cisco hissed. Spinning, around, Cisco dug his phone out of his pocket and scrambled back to the door.

Multiple people shouted their complaints at him and he ignored their exclamations. Where did the man go? Shoving open the door, Cisco stumbled on the street and looked to the right and to the left. Crowds of bustling people either way.

"Crap." Holding up his phone, Cisco quickly dialed Sherlock's number.

"What are you doing?" the detective picked up almost immediately.

Cisco was still shaking from the vision, but he did his best to sound steady. "Ditch the plan. I found Barry. Get down here and help me catch him."

There was a pause and muffled voices through the phone. Cisco raced through the crowd. No. Nata. Nope. Why did he let him go?

"We'll be there in… three minutes. Are you sure it's him? How are we supposed to-?"

"There!" Cisco pointed, even though he didn't know if Sherlock could see. "I spotted him." With that, he disconnected and took off through the crowd.

"Sorry."

"Woops."

"Oh my gosh. That was totally an accident. I'd stay but- but I've got to... Yeah."

And then he finally reached shouting distance. "Barry!" he cried.

Barry Allen turned, confused. His hair was dirty blond instead of the brown and he wore a pair of geeky glasses. Other than that, he appeared to be exactly the same man Cisco had just seen.

"Barry Allen! Don't move!"

Barry finally spotted him as Cisco ran up. Cisco gasped for a moment, catching his breath. "You… are… really fast." The idiocy of that statement hit him a moment later and he snorted.

Barry Allen was staring at him. "You're the guy in the coffee shop. Do I know you?"  
Cisco nodded and then shook his head. "No. Not… here." Urgency overtook him and the words poured from his mouth before he could stop them. "We've been searching for you because we need your help. You're the only one who can fix this mess."

Frowning, Barry took his arm and pulled them to the side, out of the way. He looked confused. "I'm sorry. I think you've got the wrong guy. I'm a forensic scientist. Unless someone's been murdered, I don't know how much help I'll-"

"Nonono," Cisco interrupted. "Look." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I know who you are. I know what you can do. You're the red streak."

A flicker of emotions flew across Barry's face. Suddenly Barry stiffened…

… And Cisco's back was against a brick wall in an alleyway somewhere else. That _was_ fast. Barry's hand pinned him against the wall. Cisco sucked in a quick breath. "Hey, hey, calm down. I need your help that's-"

"How do you know?" Barry hissed.

"I…" Cisco looked pointedly down at Barry's hand. "If you wouldn't mind taking it down a bit. Let's have a normal conversation, alright?"

Slowly, Barry removed his hand, still staring dangerously at Cisco. He backed up a bit. After a moment, he bit his lip sheepishly. "Sorry. Talk."

Cisco nodded. The more he spoke, the more he remembered. "Right. Short version. In an alternate timeline, universe, whatever, you and I are friends. Good friends. I help you catch the bad guys. That's how I know who you are. Now, my other friends need your help. They got stuck in this universe when we opened a singularity in that other universe, which opened gateways between different universes. You're the only person I know who can run fast enough to open a wormhole again. They need to get home because I'm not sure what exactly the effect could be, but I don't think that someone who doesn't belong in this universe can stay here forever without messing up crap." He took a deep breath. "Get it?"

Barry blinked. "What?"

Before Cisco could respond, several pairs of feet came jogging around the corner. Cisco glanced behind Barry and spotted Sherlock, John, and Mycroft. Sherlock had his phone out, probably tracking Cisco.

Sherlock met Cisco's eyes.

Barry looked behind him and was suspicious immediately. "Who are-?"  
"-My friends," Cisco interrupted, quickly. "Sherlock Holmes, his brother, Mycroft, and John Watson." He gestured at Barry. "Guys… Barry Allen. The streak"

They all nodded in turn and soon they were all standing in a loose circle. Barry fidgeted. His eyes zipped up and down the newcomers and then back to Cisco. He frowned, skeptic. "They're from another universe?"

"Alternate," John corrected. "Can you help us?"

Carefully, Barry shook his head. "I don't know. I've never run that fast… ever." Suddenly his eyes lit up. "Dr. Wells needs to know about this."

It took a moment for those words to register and when they did, Cisco took a step back. "Dr. Wells is… dead."

Now Barry was confused. "Officially, yes. Secretly, no. He saved my life after I got hit by lightning. He's been training me ever sense. I assumed you were aware because…" He trailed off, seeing Cisco's wide eyes. "Wait. Do you know him?"

Cisco felt like shutting down. Like an overloaded computer. This was too much. Again. He let out a small, sick sounding laugh. "I used to work with him. I thought… I thought…"

"You thought wrong."

Cisco stiffened even further at the voice. He knew that sound. He knew it intimately. Slowly Cisco swiveled around. Vaguely he registered Barry's words.

 _"About time."_

But he wasn't listening. All he could see was the man standing at the entrance of the alley. Nothing else existed. Cisco tried to speak, but his voice came out quivering.

"Dr. Wells?"


	6. Chapter 6

Star Labs was far different than Cisco remembered. He and Caitlyn would have never let it fall this far. The lab was a messy chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles and chemicals. Broad, low tables were scattered about which bristled with parts of machinery, test tubes, and little burners with their flickering blue flames.

In the midst of all of this, Dr. Wells, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Barry weaved in and around, talking rapidly to each other. They were working out some sort of solution, or equation, or something that Cisco should probably be helping with. They were trying to see if it was possible for Barry to open a hole between the universes.

Cisco crossed his arms over his chest. "This is… weird."

John, who was beside him, gave Cisco sympathetic smile. "Believe me, I get it. Sherlock faked his death once and I didn't see him for two years."

Cisco turned, eyebrows raised. "Seriously?"

"Yup. I took it much worse than you, I'm afraid."

"Huh."

It had been Cisco's fault really. He had kept himself in the dark by not answering anyone's calls. Many people wanted Harrison dead and so Harrison stayed dead publically. He said that he tried to contact Cisco but couldn't get ahold of him.

It was still a shock.

Suddenly across the room, Barry let out a frustrated shout and sat down heavily. "This is ridiculous. We are never going to figure out how to do this in a single day!"

Cisco frowned. He peeled himself from the corner. "Why would we need to do that?"

Barry's gaze met his and then fell away. He chewed his lip. "It's nothing." Quickly, Barry stood and began pacing. He growled to himself in irritation. "It's just…" He stopped now. "My ability came with a consequence."

Cisco stilled, frowning. "That's not right."

"I wish that was true." Barry ran a worried hand through his hair. "Dr. Wells couldn't get to me fast enough and I ended up with a strange sort of brain damage before he rescued me from the hospital." He looked almost irritated. "I've already been awake for twenty hours and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to sleep eventually and when I do…" He trailed off and Cisco waited, slightly impatient. The other men's attention had been caught and they watched on.

"Barry does not have the ability to process memories while he sleeps and put them into his long-term memory," Dr. Wells picked up quietly. "Tomorrow morning…"

"I'll have forgotten today. Just like I forgot yesterday and the day before that… To me, yesterday I woke up in Dr. Well's lab and he told me I was fast."

Cisco leaned back, shocked. A spark of pity flew through his chest and he hid it quickly. "That's why you were glad we changed all of this." No wonder.

Barry blinked. "What?"

"Never mind." Cisco changed the subject quickly. "But you remember your condition? Your abilities? Dr. Wells?"

"Yes. A peculiarity I am very grateful for."

"And so," John spoke, finally. "Unless we solve this before you fall asleep, we're going to have to explain this all again."

Oh gosh. That was not going to work.

Barry nodded. Eyes on the ground now. Embarrassed, probably, by the attention. "I won't remember any of you. From my point of view, I haven't met anyone new for a year."

It was then that Cisco registered the awfulness of such a condition. How long can you stay awake? Twenty-four? Thirty-six hours? Forty-eight at the most. At that point, you would hallucinating and falling into microsleeps. It wouldn't really be living.

You can do a lot of things in two days. Travel across the globe. Meet a friend. Give a gift. Bake a cake. But how much of life is really found in forty-eight hours? It's a snippet, a glimpse, a trailer of reality.

Could you get a different job? Meet new people? No. Barry would never learn anything he did not already know or fall in love with someone new. Every day was unique, different and changing and Barry would never remember why.

It would feel like being stuck. In a single slice of time. Would he wake up someday as an old man? Cisco shivered inwardly. He couldn't imagine… No. He could. It made his stomach hurt.

"You haven't met anyone you can recall, Barry," Dr. Well's inserted. "Although, I assure you, you have met several new people." His face set with determination. He slapped his hands down on the table. " _That's_ another reason why we need to work faster. Better. Quicker. First, because you lot can't live here much longer without unraveling. Second, because Barry needs to remember all of this. We are the most advanced scientific minds in this universe. Surely we can pull off a wormhole."

Nodding in agreement, they pulled together around a diagram. They could do this. They had to.

The diagram was complex, filled with math and bits that even Cisco could hardly understand. However, after a moment Cisco shook his head. He realized that he recognized the diagram in a distant part of his mind. "It won't work."

Sherlock snorted moodily. "Optimism must be a British thing,"

"I'm not trying to shoot it down, but I… well, I suppose I am. It's just not going to work. We can't waste time with it."

"Why not? Why wouldn't it work?"

"Because…" Cisco let his words drop and his gaze fell with them. He'd have to tell his friends eventually. He might as well face it now. He'd avoided talking about himself long enough and it hadn't made him feel much better anyhow. "I know because, on Earth One, it didn't. Not the way we need it to work. It's because they created a wormhole that we're in this mess in the first place."

Sherlock, who looked ghostly in the damp lighting, replied quietly. "Earth one?"

"A root parallel universe," Cisco explained quickly. "I… get, um, visions, I guess, from other universes. People, things, places, will trigger it. It's… complicated."

 _Why, thank you, Cisco,_ he thought to himself. _That was brilliantly articulate._

The others didn't react the way he expected them to (then again, he wasn't really sure what he expected). They nodded their heads thoughtfully and didn't question him. Strangely, Dr. Well's was not particularly surprised.

"You're a Meta," Harrison confirmed.

Cisco bit his lip, almost instantly denying it, but instead he nodded. "Um. Yeah. A pretty pathetic one, but… yeah."

It took a moment but then Harrison smirked. "I'm not so sure about that. It's certainly useful when dealing with multiple dimensions. What do you suggest we do?"

"I might have a plan."

* * *

The basement with the accelerator was dark, dreary and dry. Cisco fumbled for the light switch and when he finally found it, white lights fizzled on high above him.

He was alone.

Careful to keep the fragile silence in one piece, Cisco walked down the steps and stood still on the cement floor. He could almost feel the vibrations of the machine squirming up from the souls of his feet. But that wasn't right. The machine was shut down. The cool of the deactivated accelerator radiated from the walls and Cisco shivered. Around the massive machine, there was a cement runway. It was certainly convenient, almost as if the creator expected speedster to run on the track at some point. Cisco paused at the thought. Could Dr. Wells have-? No. Of course not.

Turning in a slow circle, Cisco imagined Barry, a streak of red and yellow racing around and around the accelerator. Soon. It was happening soon.

After a moment Cisco sighed. He was dangling by threads here, going off of the words of an alternate Barry Allen who he hoped he understood correctly.

He knew that whatever world they entered would be just as evil as this one. Earth One Barry made that clear. There was death, destruction, grief, just like now.

But Earth One had something to combat it.

They had each other. They were a team. Barry, Caitlynn, Cisco, Iris… the list went on. In contrast, everyone here, from what Cisco could glean, was alone in one way or another.

Cisco? He was alone by choice.

Dr. Wells? He had to train an amnesic speedster while pretending to be dead. A lonely pursuit by far.

Sherlock? John? Mycroft? They had each other, but they were alone in this universe, fraying on the edges.

And Barry Allen was the most alone of all. He was stuck in his own injured mind. Never to make new relationships for as long as he lived.

"We need a better plotline," Cisco muttered. "This sucks worse than Catwoman." He smirked ruefully at himself, but his smile dropped quickly. With a soft sigh, he settled on a metal step and placed his chin in his hands.

This wasn't a story. He shouldn't treat it as such. This was not a tale a kid might browse on the internet. He doubted reading this would even be entertaining. _Oh look, Cisco Ramon doesn't know what to do… again. How riveting._

No, at least in this universe, Cisco was facing a reality. He couldn't run from these problems even if he was faster than the Flash.

The Flash.

Oh. That was good. Cisco mouthed the name and it itched the back of his mind. Something about it was so freaking familiar-

"Cisco!"

Cisco started and lost the thought. Swiveling, he got to his feet.

It was Dr. Wells. He stared down from the entrance into the basement. Elevator doors slid shut behind him. Dark shadows lined his eyes, giving him a haggard, nearly wild appearance. "It's almost time. What are you doing down here?"

"Just thinking." Quickly Cisco jogged up the steps until he stood before his former mentor. Dr. Wells was taller than him, Cisco noted. He smelled like smoke and ink. "Do you think Barry can really do it?"

Wells chewed his words for a moment before nodding slowly. "Creating a wormhole to a root universe seems much more possible than a wormhole to another branch. Sherlock and his friends will stabilize in such a world. It's merely theory, at least in this universe. But if it's happened in your other universe, I don't see why it wouldn't work here."

Slowly, Cisco nodded in agreement. He look a small step back and changed the subject. "Are they coming down?"

"We're already here."

Sherlock Holmes stood with his hands in his pockets as the elevator doors slide open. The whole crew walked out. Barry looked positively exhausted, but he kept a nervous smile. John and Mycroft were both silent and tired. They nodded in Cisco's direction. They were going to travel out of this universe and into a stable one. Hopefully.

"Alright." Harrison clapped his hands. "We're about to see what we can do. Are you ready, Barry?"

"Ready as I can be."

"Good enough."


	7. Chapter 7

The air was tense, firm, twitchy. Any moment something awful was going to happen.

Or not.

They didn't know.

It could work. And it could not. What happened then?

Worry about that later.

Barry Allen stiffened, reading to run. His head was fogged with exhaustion and the distant grip of pain medication. He'd get an awful headache sometimes and it was like-

No. Don't think about that.

Wrinkling his nose at his own commands, Barry glanced up and his eyes locked with Cisco's like puzzle pieces. He hadn't noticed how solemn Cisco looked until that very moment. Everything was riding on the shoulders of a computer geek who said he could see into parallel universes. No wonder he kept shivering.

And the rest of the plan lay on Barry; a damaged speedster who couldn't gather up enough courage to meet with his family, much less gather the speed to break the time and space continuum.

Joe and Iris thought Barry was dead. He wasn't, obviously. Barry was selfish and Barry knew he was. But he didn't know what they would do when he told them. "Hey, tomorrow I'm not going to remember any of this and you're probably going to have to take care of me my entire life because I'm broken."

No. That was not going to happen. Not yet, anyway. He wasn't ready.

If this didn't work, he would go to them. He would talk about everything. But until every possibility of living a functional life had been exhausted, Barry wasn't going to come home. Telling Joe and Iris would be like giving up. Giving in.

One of the British guys, _Samick or something?_ Gave him a shout, asking if he was ready. Barry handed him a thumbs up. He took it down quickly, realizing he was shaking, similar to Cisco's near constant vibrating ever since they'd met. Cisco didn't appear to notice how much he moved, which was odd.

… And not necessary to think about right now.

He needed to concentrate.

They choose to race around the reactor because the very existence of the machine was unstable. If anywhere, it was here that he had the best chance of breaking into Earth One. At least, that's what Cisco and Dr. Well's said.

With one last look at his friends, Barry took a step forward and felt heat boiling in his chest. He drew a breath and with Harrison's words "Run, Barry!" he flew down the track. Around and around and around.

Faster. He dug in with his heels and _pushed_.

It didn't feel like he was moving fast. Instead, the world was really slow. Barry blocked out the images of his frozen friends as he zipped around and concentrated.

The world flickered, grew dark, and came back. Was that a good thing?  
He raced three more times around the track and he could feel something ripping, just barely getting… loose…

But suddenly Cisco shouted a garbled message that Barry heard painfully through his earpiece. He faltered and caught a glimpse of Cisco tumbling headlong over the railing above him, Sherlock's scarf in hand.

Instantly, the world sped up as Barry slowed. He 'jogged' over to Cisco, who was falling in slow motion. Barry caught him as he fell and set him on the floor.

The world resumed normal speed. Cisco was pale, eyes wide, gasping. His eyes shined blankly, but suddenly he blinked and grabbed Barry's arm.

Barry held him down. He didn't know what was wrong. Cisco shouldn't move.

But Cisco shook his head rapidly and pointed up to the balcony that he had stood on. "It's not me," he bit out. "It's them!"

Confused, Barry zipped up the stairs and onto the balcony.

Dr. Wells was frozen, eyebrows raised. Around him, all three of the British men were shades of green, struggling to stand.

Sherlock (oh right, that's his name) tried to keep his feet, but to their mutual shock, his hand fell through the desk supporting him and he dropped to his knees with a hiss.

"What's wrong with them?" Barry asked.

Harrison opened his mouth, shook his head. "I… don't know." He jumped forward and leaned over the railing. "Cisco!" Cisco was standing now. Harrison repeated Barry's question and Cisco shivered so violently Barry could see it from twenty feet above.

"They're fading," Cisco shouted back. "They can't stabilize here. I think we're making them fade faster." No one asked how he knew.

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" John lurched to his feet. "What's happening?"

"You're caught between two weak universes!" Cisco replied. Barry could almost see his thoughts churning. "I get it now! You would be mostly fine if you were entirely here, but there's a part of you that's still back in your world. It's not going to be pleasant. We're opening a wound, of sorts. We need to make the wormhole. Now!" Cisco's eyes met Barry's and he nodded ever so slightly.

So Barry ran.

Barry ran and ran until he felt like his heart would burst.

He couldn't stop. Not now. Yellow lightning crackled around him, sending shivers up and down his spine. The wind rushed across his face, and he had to squint to keep his eyes open.

Cisco Ramon stood on the sideline, eyes wide, quivering and Barry caught a glimpse of him as he whipped around.

Suddenly he could hear Cisco in his earpiece, a crackling, scratchy sound.

"I'm going to try something. I think I can loosen the panes. I kind of get it now. It's not a vibration, Barry. Not like I thought. I'm not vibrating. I'm moving in and out; existing in every universe for a fraction of a fraction of a second."

"What? How?"

A pause. Seven laps around.

"This is wrong, Barry. This entire universe is wrong and it has been since it broke off. I can feel it."

Barry frowned, confused, but kept running. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. But… Creating a wormhole isn't the answer."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

Cisco pursed his lips. "I think… Oh gosh, this is going to sound insane."

"What is it, Cisco? Tell me. Now."

Cisco took a deep breath and continued. "You can travel past the speed of light. I've seen it before. We can go back through time and change this entire situation. If you save Caitlynn and Dr. Wells, this offshoot of reality will blend with Earth One and none of this will have happened. At least, I think so."

Barry understood, barely. Ten more laps. "If this reality never existed, then Sherlock wouldn't have a wormhole to fall into in the first place. They would end up back in their universe."

"Hopefully." Cisco caught his eyes one last time. "But you can't do it by yourself. I can't do it either. We need to work together. Not alone."

"Together." Surging forward, Barry poured his confusion and sadness and hurt into each step. He wanted nothing more than to not be alone. "Whatever you're planning, Cisco. Do it now."

Four more laps.

In slow motion, Cisco raised his arm from the sideline and a shimmering, invisible wave poured from his fingertips. Barry didn't have time to understand.

"What happens when I run into that?"

"I'm loosening the walls between the universes. I think. You'll travel. Again, I think."

"You don't know for sure?"

"No."

Barry pursed his lips. "I suppose we don't have much of a choice."

Silence. And then: "Goodbye, Barry."

"Goodbye." Barry flew directly into the shimmering wave. It pulled him forward. Deeper. Faster and faster.

He screamed in effort.

And the world disappeared in a flash.


	8. Epilogue

**Cisco woke up on the concrete. He jumped to his feet and turned in a dizzy circle. How the heck did he end up here?**

 **Central City.**

 **9:37 AM**

 **July 5**

 **2015**

 **Earth 1**

 **The information scrolled across his mind like a computer screen and Cisco's mouth dropped open. "Woah."**

 **This was new.**

 **He searched his mind for recent memories and they came easily. It had been five months since Eddie died. Since they defeated Dr. Wells. He was on his way home when…**

 **When what?**

 **He lost consciousness? That wasn't supposed to happen. Confused, he took a step out of the dark alley. The light pierced his eyes and he hissed, stepping back. The world felt sharp, like he was on caffeine. It smelled different too. Rain.**

 **What on Earth was going on here?**

 **Something was tight around his neck. Cisco reached up and tugged it off. A dark blue scarf. Was he wearing this before? Where did it come from?**

 **Cisco ran his fingers across the surface.**

 **And suddenly he wasn't in Central City.**

 ** _"_** ** _I hate tea so I don't buy any."_**

 ** _"_** ** _You don't know how you're doing it?"_**

 ** _"_** ** _I'm_** **not** ** _going to be the hostage."_**

 ** _"…_** ** _Dr. Wells?"_**

 ** _"_** ** _Together."_**

 **Cisco gasped. His throat was dry and his hand shook.**

 **How could he forget? He picked up the scarf.**

 **Sherlock Holmes' scarf. Cisco smirked.**

 **"** **Dude. I met freaking Sherlock Holmes."**

 **Quickly, Cisco pulled himself to his feet. He needed to find Barry. Barry remembered. He was waiting for Cisco to remember.**

 **Cisco ran without knowing where he was going. He ran and ran and somehow he ended up at Jitters. This navigation-thingy he had going on was proving useful.**

 **Jitters was a mess. Dark. Gloomy. Dusty. Destroyed by the singularity.**

 **And Barry Allen sat in the middle of it. Alone. Cisco's chest clenched. Barry had been isolated long enough. They both had.**

 **Not anymore. Together.**

 **Cisco stepped through the door and stood on the threshold. Barry's eyes shot up to meet his and Cisco's throat was suddenly not so dry. He smiled wearily.**

 **"** **I remember."**


	9. Final Notes

HELLO DEAR READERS:))) AND IT'S FINISHED!

Thank you so much for reading this shortish story. Sorry, this isn't a new chapter. I hope you enjoyed my brain-child. I sure did. To show your support, [and just because you are a nice person lol and because Cisco Ramon is freaking awesome] please leave a REVIEW! Lots of long, beauteous reviews:)))

Thanks!

-Etimire T.


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